


The Last McDonough

by Goodneighbor_Neighbor (Fan_by_Proxy)



Series: Commonwealth Kinks [2019 Prompt List] [14]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Crying, Daddy Kink, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Hand Jobs, Mommy Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:14:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24141157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fan_by_Proxy/pseuds/Goodneighbor_Neighbor
Summary: The truth is out about McDonough's synthetic nature, and Hancock has to try and contend with the baggage that grief always brings. Fortunately, he's got his Sole right there.[I have no idea if McDonough counts as MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH but since it's pretty much the plot-kicker and this is a grieving story with a sprinkling of kink, I figured I should tag]
Relationships: John Hancock & Female Sole Survivor, John Hancock/Female Sole Survivor
Series: Commonwealth Kinks [2019 Prompt List] [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1727050
Comments: 6
Kudos: 21





	The Last McDonough

Yvette had Hancock by the hand, leading him all the way from his brother’s--from the mayor’s office--to her place. She didn’t say a word, just held his hand and moved him along, got him inside and sat him down. Hancock heard her moving around, heard the clink of glass and saw her set down a bottle of bourbon, a bottle of vodka, and a glass alongside them. He stared at the light coming through them, watched it dip in and out of the grain of the coffee table; watched the shadows shift and her hands slip in and out of view as she laid out a rainbow of chems to go with the booze. Hancock’s fingers twitched; he couldn’t work up the urge to grab any of it. The cold dread that had his guts twisted and his heart thundering was weighing down _everything_ inside and out.

When Hancock didn’t make a move for the booze or chems, or say a word, Yvette took a deep breath to steel herself. He needed her, like she’d needed him. McDonough being a synth but not knowing how far back it went, how much blame Hancock could put on him for the past; he had to be hurting and confused beyond words. It was too much feeling for one person to try and settle on their own. She moved to his side and touched his shoulder lightly.

Hancock exploded. “ _FUCK!”_ he planted a boot against the coffee table and kicked out as hard as he could. The bottles tipped and the chems scattered as it skittered across the floor to sit at a crooked angle to the couch he sat on. He ripped the tricorn off and threw it away from him, then dropped his head in his hands.

“Oh _Jean_ …” Yvette said softly. She was now glad she had taken her boots off before she’d finished trying to set up Hancock’s comfort; now she didn’t have to waste time doing it before sitting up on the arm of the couch so she could pull him between her legs and hug his head to her chest.

The softest place in the world to be was on his gal’s chest, even when she had a coat of Commonwealth grime on. Hancock grabbed at her arm, fingers dug in. He couldn’t make himself loosen his grip. She didn’t stop him, just wrapped an arm around his head, hand against his ear and pressing him right into her breasts, hugging him without quite smothering him. Hancock turned his face a little for the smother; he didn’t want to smell Diamond City or gunpowder right then.

The grip on her arm was brutally rough; it made the tips of Yvette’s fingers tingle and she knew her forearm was going to be a mass of bruises by tomorrow if he held on. But he _was_ holding on, and that meant the world. Hancock turned his face into her, pressing hard until he could only huff through his open mouth. “It is alright _Jean_ , it will all be alright sometime.” Yvette murmured, gently caressing his head. She started to rock side-to-side with him, slow and gentle. Then she started to hum. Eventually she started to sing to him, old songs and lullabies blending together as Yvette struggled to soothe him.

Unless he was good and juiced, tears didn’t really happen. The very, very, _very_ few times Hancock ‘cried’, it was more like panting with a snotty running nose-hole. And he hadn’t had a ‘crying’ jag in a few years, not since that real bad batch Fred accidentally made. But sitting in Diamond City, with no idea how long it had been since he had _actually_ seen his _actual_ brother, and his girl cooing over him and rocking him like a baby…Hancock couldn’t help _but_ start a ‘crying’ jag. He was going to get her shirt all snotty and probably a little bloody and she was going to see it, and he was going to have to trust in the little gold ring on his finger that this wouldn’t send her out the door.

Yvette rocked and sang and petted him until the grip on her arm loosened and Hancock started to pull away. She kept her hand on his back, but let him move away from her slightly. “ _Jean_?”

He looked up at her numbly. Something sticky gleamed all around his nose and eyes, and she could see his mouth was dry as he panted.

She took her shirt off, balling it up inside out so she could wipe his face with the side that had been against her skin. It seemed like it might be cleaner than the outside, at least. “There, there my handsome man is.” Yvette smiled. “I think it is time for the bath.” she murmured.

Hancock looked at the coffee table and the spill of chems and booze.

“I will wash you. You do not have to lift one little finger _mon coeur, mon petite coeur_. You just let me care for you.” Yvette rubbed his back and kissed the top of his head.

It wouldn’t be the first time he’d given over control to her, but this felt different. And not just because it was about as unsexy a mood as he could get into without being in a rage. Hancock was still huffing, still on the crying jag that didn’t look like crying.

“I will take your clothes off, and sit you in the tub, and wash you until you are rosy clean.” Yvette said, explaining it to him the same way she used to explain it to Shaun before the bombs. “You will feel much better after _Maman_ is done.” She didn’t think anything about saying that; it was just part of the spiel--a habit of words.

Hancock looked up at her. It sounded good, sounded like not being in charge and not having to do a goddamn thing for as long as he needed to not. He nodded.

Yvette got up carefully and offered him both hands.

He grabbed those lifelines, pressing them to his face.

“It is alright _mon coeur, mon petite coeur_ , I am here.” she whispered.

She’d been serious about him not doing a damn thing, Hancock realized as he sat in the tub letting her go over and go over and go over him with a soapy cloth. Her taking his clothes off wasn’t new, but the way she’d wrapped her arms around him and helped him in the tub, letting him hang off her and be sat down instead of lowering himself, that was. The way she was going at him, there wouldn’t be a speck of grime left anywhere on him; not even in the deeper scars. But it was so gentle, backed by the sound of her singing. He hadn’t heard her sing in a long time, not since the Rail had gotten so busy and Magnolia had moved her songwriting chair to a different building; she’d have Yvette over and he’d assumed they’d been getting on musically, but that was between them. “’Vette?” _Christ_ he sounded rough; the crying jag was really ripping his throat and his mouth a dry new one.

“ _Oui, mon coeur, mon petite coeur?”_ Yvette let go of the wash cloth to rinse her hands in the water besides his hip so she could cup his face.

Hancock closed his eyes. “Want some Jet and a handy.” he muttered.

“Ok my sweet heart.” she murmured. “Just a minute.”

He opened his eyes to watch her get up, watch the way her breasts swayed as she pushed herself up using the edge of the tub. How long had she been kneeling on the wood just running him over with soap? Hancock looked at the ring on his now much-cleaner hand. Water had put a shine on it for the moment. He splashed water on his face, forcing his mouth closed even if it made the sob in his chest burn. Soapy water wasn’t going to put any moisture back in him and he already felt bad enough as it was.

Yvette took an extra minute to move the coffee table back into place and right the bottles before picking up an inhaler. When she got back upstairs, Hancock was sitting up a little higher, splashing water on his face. “Do you want something to drink before?” she asked.

Hancock hesitated. He wasn’t juiced enough yet to cry but he was doing a pretty good job snotting already.

“Your mouth must be _so_ dry, _mon coeur, mon petite coeur_.” Yvette said gently, sitting on the edge of the tub and bending down to kiss his forehead.

Automatically Hancock turned his face up to her for a kiss. When she got up and went to the sink to get a glass and fill it up, he realized he might actually be as dry in the mouth as he felt.

Yvette handed him the glass. “Drink it to the bottom, and then I will stroke you, and pet you, just the way you like.” she smiled.

Hancock nodded, chugging the water and handing her the glass before he dropped it on himself. His hands were shaking, uncooperative. He could take the hit this way, had taken thousands of hits that way, but anything more was going to be out of the question.

Yvette took the glass and set it away from them, then knelt by the tub again and reached into the water to wrap her hand around him. He was so soft; she didn’t know if he would even be able to get up, the way he must be feeling. But it was what he’d asked for, and she was going to give it to him.

Hancock kept his eyes on her face, watching that serene smile never waver as she wrapped a hand around him and started to stroke. How many times had she done it for him, taken him from start to finish? Hancock tucked the inhaler against his teeth as he felt the rush down his stomach; she had a knack for working him up. Fingertips, a little squeeze here and there, but not pulling until he was standing up; don’t mess with the head until he was all the way ready. He should’ve asked for a blowjob instead, Hancock thought as he got ready to take the hit. The second he was all the way hard, he’d take it and it’d feel like she was fucking with him forever. In reality he’d come real quick but it’d _feel_ like it lasted forever. Blew his mind when he figured it out one night just fooling around, and right now he needed that kind of head-clearing right then.

Yvette was careful, avoiding the tip until she felt the little throb halfway up the shaft that told her Hancock was as hard as he could get. She looked over at him, waited for the hiss of the inhaler and Hancock’s gasp. She wrapped her head around the end of his cock until his head barely peeped out over her fist; then she laid her thumb on it and worried the slit. He couldn’t take much of that when he wasn’t on the Jet, but something about the way time slowed down for him, he’d explained, made that feel like the best thing in the world.

Hancock stared at her eyes, losing himself in the Atomic Blue™ as the sharp slap of the water slowed down to a gurgling thump, like a heartbeat _her heartbeat_ all around him. He was warm and wet all over and felt like her thumb was spreading him wide and stroking him _inside_. Dimly and for probably the millionth time, Hancock wondered if that was how it felt for her when he was knuckles-deep. The orgasm came as easy as a breath out as time picked back up. He sighed and slid down in the tub.

“ _Oh_ _Jean_ , _non non_ now.” Yvette moved fast to get her hands under his arms, her arms around him, to hoist him up. “No drowning tonight.” she looked down at his dazed, miserable face.

She was just right _there_ ; Hancock opened his mouth and latched onto her left breast, shaking his head as he sucked. He was being weird, he knew; but she was _right there_.

“Ok, ok, let us go to bed, huh? Then you can have as much of my breast as you want, ok _Jean_?” Yvette ran her hand over the top of his head and felt him nod. “ _Bien_ , _c’est mon petite coeur bien_.” she murmured.

Hancock laid half on her lap, with her arms around him, as she rocked and let him suck at her like a damn baby. A very small part of him was mortified at the sense of satisfaction it was giving him; he should be deep in the booze and the chems, or deep in her, or both…not going on crying jags against her tits and making her deal with him like this. Even if it was nice, even if she was _so_ good at it, he shouldn’t be riding on that motherly streak the way he was.

Eventually he pushed her arms away and sat up, feet on the ground, rubbing his face with his hands. “I’m sorry.” Hancock winced at the sound of his own voice; he was so dry, he sounded like a regular Feral.

Yvette patted his back and got up. She came back with a coffee cup, a bottle of Nuka Cola, a can of water, and the bourbon. “Here. Drink.” she handed him the cup.

Hancock looked down, already know that it wasn’t strong--she didn’t pour strong, even after all this time together. It made him smile anyway as he took a sip. “Little weak there, beautiful.”

Yvette snorted. “I am trying.” she replied, putting her arm around his waist. “Now, can you talk to me?”

Hancock shook his head. “I’m sorry…I dunno…I dunno why I’m being sicker and weirder on you than usual. That’s not--this isn’t how I would deal with this.” he said, struggling to make her understand what he himself couldn’t even really understand.

“ _Jean, mon coeur, mon petite coeur_ …” Yvette pressed her cheek against his shoulder, squeezing his waist. “You _have_ to feel the feelings; if you try to put them away, to mash them down, they will only become worse and harder to control until you are facing a monster you cannot beat.” she said patiently. “You know this--you have tried to drown the feelings. It did not work.”

Hancock finished the mug and handed it back to her, accepting the only marginally stronger refill. “Hey, wasn’t all bad.” he coughed, looking around for a smoke.

Yvette got up and fetched an ashtray from the kitchen and his pack and matchbook from his jacket. “Goodneighbor is a good thing, but if you were not the lucky devil you are, you would be dead. A very shiny and dead man.” she pointed out, delivering everything to him.

Hancock quickly chugged the weak drink, ignoring the burn of the bubbles. He managed to get the cigarette in his mouth and lit, but couldn’t manage the drag. Apparently the last mug had been the tipping point; his eyes were burning and they felt _so_ wet. “ _Fuck_.” he managed to get out.

Yvette threw her arms around his neck and held tight.

Hancock ripped the cigarette out of his mouth and wrapped his arms around her. The tears felt like they were running cold and slow down his face. “I don’t even know how long he’s been gone ‘Vette. I been so pissed with him for _so_ long and I might not even be pissed at the right guy.” he gulped.

“ _Jean_ , whether it was truly your brother or the synth, it does not matter. Feel what you feel, do not try to explain it away before you can try to feel it, do not try to _not_ feel it. I am here; I will hold you, I will baby you, I will keep you safe while you grieve and you rage. It is no less for me to do than it is for you to have done.” she swore.

Hancock sagged, feeling the burn against his hand as he crushed his cigarette in a convulsive gesture, to keep from dropping hot ash on her back as he clung. He coughed again, catching a deep taste of the kind of dust he hadn’t tasted in years. At least he couldn’t smell it; just her soap, the tarberry and carrot blossom soap she’d pick up from The Slog whenever they had to go up that way. “…I wanna get outta here so bad but I don’t think I can make the walk right now.” he whispered.

“ _Only_ worry about living, _Jean_. Live. Breathe. Cry, eat, let me hold you.” Yvette whispered back. “Be ill, and when you are well, and it is calm, we will go home. We will walk to Goodneighbor and we will live, and breathe, and laugh, and dance and cry and hold each other all over again.”

He swallowed, and nodded. “Sounds like a plan, beautiful.”

Yvette rubbed his back, but didn’t say anything else.

Hancock didn’t know exactly when she’d put him down in the bed. He only woke up tucked in, with the radio playing softly somewhere in the little kitchen. Her side was empty, and he could hear her voice, low but angry.

“I do not _care_ what the rule is; if it were not for _Jean_ and myself, your city would still be in a scattered mess with a hostage in the office and the rest of your patrol like headless chickens!” Yvette folded her arms across her chest, feet planted wide apart, blocking the doorway and doing her best to cut her most intimidating figure despite being in a bathrobe.

The pair of Diamond City guards at the door shuffled awkwardly, sharing a lost look with each other. It hadn’t been _their_ idea to even go knocking on the door to tell the Vaulter she had to take her Ghoul out of the city. “Look, Miss Dupont--” the one who had lost the cap toss and had to knock started.

“It is _Missus Hancock_ , for your records--he is my husband, he has helped save your city in spite of your policies, and he is mourning his brother. You will respect that and take yourself away from my door.” She said sharply. “If nothing else, if good taste and common sense count for nothing in Diamond City, then remember that you would not have been able to go to that office if _Jean_ Hancock had not disabled the turret at the lift, from a distance! You should be ashamed yourselves, take yourselves outside and learn how to shoot!” At this point she was trying to run them off by any means necessary--appeal to guilt, appeal to embarrassment, appeal to shame, _whatever_. Anything to send the Diamond City guards away before Hancock woke up and heard this nonsense.

The guards looked at each other again. There were rules, but none of them covered telling a flesh-and-blood hero--a _real_ one, the one who took out the Institute and everything--what to do. “I…I guess since the board hasn’t met yet…we just…go.”

“Yes, see you do.” Yvette snapped. “ _Allez! Allez, vite_!”

Hancock could see in his mind the quick snap of her wrist as she waved her hand; a sharp slap to the air that left no question that you were being fucking _dismissed_. He smiled. It hurt. Everything hurt. But he smiled nonetheless.

The next time Hancock realized he’d fallen asleep and woke up again, he could hear Piper’s voice alongside Yvette’s. He turned over, saw their shadows on the wall, but no one sat on the couch. They must’ve been standing in the little kitchen Yvette had scrapped together, keeping out of sight, probably trying not to bother him.

“Could you get things from the terminal?” Yvette asked.

“Just what you saw--sending messages to’em even after you took care of them. I guess he didn’t believe. There was an automated response back to basically just ‘keep doing what you’re doing’ or whatever.” Piper chuffed. “You know, I thought he was screwy but I only suggested he might be a synth to…ya know, shake things up!”

“Piper, _shush_.” Yvette said.

“Sorry…how’s uh…how’s he doing?” Piper asked guiltily.

“He hurts. I think though, we will be ready to go back to Goodneighbor in a few days.”

“Guards haven’t been hassling you too bad, have they?”

Yvette snorted. “I yelled at two of them like they were little boys, and they left ashamed like little boys. If the board would like to complain, I will bend over so they can direct the comments to the only place that will listen to them.”

Piper cackled.

Hancock snorted, turning his face into the pillow to stifle the noise. His chest ached from the sobs already, but he couldn’t complain about the extra pain from a sudden rush of loving her. His gal, his missus. He wished for a second that Charlie* was around-- _actually_ around, just so he could rub his fat face in the fact that there was a Missus Hancock while he was still fooling around with secretaries. The guilt didn’t rear up as high as it had before when he’d thought that; the Charlie who would’ve had something smart to say about it, he’d been gone for years. Maybe even before the anti-Ghoul mess. That was the one thought Hancock grabbed at sheepishly, even if his luck wasn’t good enough for that to be true. It was just something that didn’t hurt as badly to think about--that his _real_ brother hadn’t been that kind of asshole.

“You know, you’ve got the reputation…you could pull a pass for Hancock, ya know? Genevieve would go to bat for you, she’s still all a-flutter over how you saved her.” Piper teased.

“Bah; only one pass? Not good enough for me. It would not be good enough for _Jean_ either. Diamond City should come to sense, even though I know it probably will not for many years.” Yvette shrugged. “No, we will go back to Goodneighbor. I will visit my friends here from time to time, and my friends will watch my home better than the guards will. It has worked so far.” she said.

Hancock rolled on his back and stared up at the tin-and-wood ceiling. ‘Not good enough’ wasn’t a thing you heard about Diamond City too often. Sure, around Goodneighbor it was the general consensus but Goodneighbor was special. His kind of special…and hers too. He rubbed his chest, trying to break the pain up more. He wanted to be back home; his home, her home, _their_ home.

“You never know, Blue.” Piper said. “We do miss you around here.”

Yvette smiled softly. “I love you, I love Nat, I love Nick and Ellie. You know this, don’t you?”

“Well _yeah_ …” Piper mumbled.

“It is not you, it is this city. When Nat is a little older, _come_ to Goodneighbor. Visit with us, go to the Rail as friends instead of tired people who are waiting for some news.” Yvette said.

“I’ll think about it Blue, I will.” Piper said, knowing she wouldn’t really. Goodneighbor was fine for adults who knew how to shoot, but _never_ her kid sister. And her kid sister would be her kid sister, no matter how old she got. “You sure you don’t want some noodles from the stand?”

“ _Non, non_. I appreciate the offer, but I want to cook the last of these fresh things before we leave. No sense to waste good food.”

“Send your leftovers my way.” Piper said with a grin.

“Like always.” Yvette opened her arms.

Piper slipped into them to hug her tight, barely embarrassed about Blue only being in a bathrobe. “You’ll say bye before you go, right?”

“We will stop by the paper, I promise.” Yvette replied, rubbing her back. “Give to Nat my love, and these chalks. I do not know how un-broken they are, but I know she will manage.” Yvette grabbed the box off the shelf to press into Piper’s hand.

“You got it Blue. Tell uh…tell Hancock I hope he’s doing better.” Piper said as she let Blue guide her to the door.

“I will. When he wakes.” Yvette said, waving her off and closing the door as quietly as she could manage. The cooking oil she’d spent on the hinges was proving to be a worthwhile investment. She turned, ready to tiptoe across the floor to keep her noise down.

Hancock leaned against the cinderblock wall by the stairs. “I’m up.” he said, watching her jump through the slats.

“ _Merde!_ ” Yvette pressed a hand to her heart. “Like a cat…” she shook her head. “Did we wake you? I am sorry, I did not want to stand outside the door like this,” she gestured to the robe, “and I thought Piper could be a little more quiet. I guess not, when she is not being shot at.” she said with a shrug as she came around the rickety steps, reaching for him.

Hancock grabbed her up, burying his face in her hair and pressing against her as much as he could manage. “Been in and out for a while, beautiful.” he murmured, kissing the side of her head. “We gotta work on your trash-talk.”

“I make my point.” her response was muffled, crushed against him like she was. “Are you hungry?”

“Nah, not really.” Hancock replied, loosening his grip to let her breathe. “But when do I pass up on your cooking?”

“So far, never.” Yvette looked up at him with a smile. “Do you want some coffee?”

“Nope. Just wanna watch you do that magic you do.” Hancock said as he watched her face. There was a warmth in his belly that pushed against the pain in his chest. “Then I wanna get in that bed and not get out until we gotta head back for Goodneighbor…you catch my meaning?” Watching the flush rise in her face made the warmth spread, took more sting out of the pain.

“You _are_ feeling better… _bien_.” Yvette replied, rising up on her toes to kiss him.

Hancock kissed her back, hands sliding down her back to pull up the robe and grab her ass, press her hips against his. “Dinner can wait.” he growled. It was sudden, and desperate, the urge that was standing him up.

Yvette undid the belt and let the robe drop. “Everything you want.” she said warmly.

“Yeah, you are.” Hancock grabbed her face, pressing a hard kiss on her mouth before dragging her to the bed and throwing her down on it. It was going to be a rough time, but he needed to bruise her and make her moan about as much as he needed a good solid hit; then they could have dinner.

Back in Goodneighbor, Hancock let her field all the questions. The hurt was still there,like a sonofabitch loan shark. But he could think again, and the highs weren’t any better or any worse than usual; aside from the side-eyes, the questions people wanted to ask that Yvette wasn’t letting them, things were slipping back into just about what passed for normal in the neighborhood…except along with the grief, there was a nagging awkwardness Hancock was pretty sure was all in his head, but he couldn’t shake off.

“You are staring.” Yvette said one night as she stood at the sink in the bathroom, braiding her hair and doing all the nightly things she did when he wasn’t immediately on her.

“I am not.” Hancock replied, even though he was. Leaning against the back of the couch, unable to take his eyes off her, appreciating. The way she turned for the mirror, the way her eyebrows would come together when she was criticizing herself in her head, even just the way her toes flexed as her feet moved around. He’d seen it all a hundred times and he wanted to watch it a million more.

“You _are_.” she repeated, tying off the braid and throwing it back over her shoulder. “And I can hear your brain clicking. What are you thinking?” Yvette leaned on the sink, turning her face left and right close to the mirror before looking over at him.

“I just…I’m sorry. About going weird on you.” Hancock stumbled on the apology; he didn’t want to name the weirdness, but it was there like the grief.

“What? _Jean_ , you were in grief.” Yvette shrugged. “Do not say sorry, because at least I could finally take care of you as you have taken care of me.”

“No, I mean--not _that_ , it’s…just the…” Hancock shook his head, frustrated. “Hanging on you like a baby? Fuckin’ weird.”

“You needed comfort. And it is not a secret to me that you think I make a very sexy _Maman_.” Yvette replied with a smirk.

“Aw _hell_ , why’d you have to go and say _that_?” Hancock moved away from the couch, turning his back to her to hide the mortification that was heating up his face to the point he couldn’t stand it.

“ _Jean_? You are embarrassed?” Yvette was amazed. “Even after the beer bottles? The corn? The heels? The belts and the cuffs and the blindfolds? Oh, and all of the times at the Rail…”

“That’s _not_ \--that shit’s not _weird_ , alright?” Hancock snapped, unable to keep himself from flinching when he felt her cheek on his back and her arms slipping around his waist.

“What was so weird?” Yvette demanded, pressing along his body. “I held you, you touched me, we spent all the time together.”

Hancock shook his head. “It’s just weird, ok? I’m a grown-ass man; suckin’ on a titty and getting rocked shouldn’t happen at all, let alone get me hard.” he grabbed the back of the couch to keep from rubbing a sore across his upper lip in distress.

“You were _grieving, Jean_. You needed comfort, what is a more simple comfort than when you were small, and your whole world was _Maman?_ ” Yvette asked. “Besides, you have asked me many times during ‘who is your daddy’ and you like to hear me say _you are_ , so what does it matter?”

Hancock snorted.

“And _that_ is only weird because ‘daddy’ is a weird word.” Yvette continued.

“What? It’s not a weird word.” Hancock replied, patting her arms to get her to loosen her grip. He turned around.

“It is so!” Yvette insisted. “It is very hard-sounding, not at all normal”

Hancock wrapped his arms around her, looking down at her big beautiful _sincere_ expression. “So what’s _not_ a weird word for the guy, huh?” he teased.

“Well _Papa_ , of course.” Yvette replied.

He laughed. “Sounds like an old man!”

“ _Oh_ you think so?” Yvette squinted at him, then rose up on her toes, hands sliding up his chest to his shoulders to pull him down so she could whisper in his ear. “But _Papa_ likes to hear about how my pussy belongs to him, doesn’t he? _Papa_ likes to make me all drippy wet before he _fucks_ me and comes inside of me because I am all _Papa’s_.” she purred.

 _That_ sent the blood racing around him so fast, Hancock staggered, reaching back for the couch to get firm ground again. “Holy _shit_ ,” he breathed, hands to her shoulders to push her down flat-footed. “Beautiful, babe, you _cannot_ do that--” he started.

The wobble and push down startled her; maybe he was still feeling too bad to tease?

“--when I’m standing.” Hancock finished.

Yvette breathed a sigh of relief. “Ok, ok. But you see? Better.”

Hancock shook his head. “Yeah, alright, alright. _That_ is sexy. The other thing is…” he shook his head.

Yvette took his hands in hers, playing with his fingers. “ _Well_ … _Jean_ …if sometimes you need for me to be the _Maman_ to your _Papa_ , that is simply because we make a pair-set. You know?” she looked up at him.

Hancock squeezed her fingers. “It ain’t something I’m talking about for regular--I mean mine. You wanna call me Papa while you’re clawing my back, I got _no_ complaints.” he grinned.

She laughed. “ _D_ _é_ _viant!”_

“Hey, how long we been married? If you didn’t know that by _now_ …” Hancock chuckled, pulling her into a hug. “Are you sure?” He asked.

She nodded. “I promise _Jean_ , when you need this, I am happy to give it. It does not bother me, it does not turn me off from you, it does not make me think less of you…I am glad you trust me so much.” Yvette rose up on her toes and kissed him. “Now if you want to put on a diaper and be changed, _we_ are going to have to discuss lines.”

Hancock’s face twisted and he shook his head. “No, _no_. Unless it’s you sitting on my face, I don’t need you to feed me or nothin’ like that, alright?”

Yvette nodded again. “ _Now_ …is Papa going to use this thing he is poking me with, or am I going to bed quietly?” she smirked.

Hancock growled, hands on her ass and squeezing. “Beautiful, I’m gonna fuck the smirk right off your face.”

Later that night, as Yvette snored beside him, Hancock enjoyed his first cigarette since they first ran to Diamond City, ran right into the madness. He could still her gasping _Papa_ in his ear, and everything from the waist down hurt for how hard that had gotten him off. The neons outside were glowing extra bright, and he could hear the Rail jumping and the party spilling out into the street. He was home in a way he hadn’t been for years. Grief for Charlie and for the way things had gone done came to him; but it came quietly and mostly sat in the darkest corner of the room saying nothing. Frankly, it was a better head-screw to deal with than Martin had been.

Hancock sighed, reaching over to give Yvette’s ass a gentle squeeze through the covers. For however long they could go--and as Ghouls, there was no telling as long as they were smart--he hoped they kept going _together_. She was _officially_ the best high he didn’t have to buy or make himself. “Beautiful, I love you.” he told her snoring firm, giving her ass another squeeze. He was _home_.

**Author's Note:**

> *Does anybody know McDonough's first name? The wiki gave me nothing so I went with his VA's first name because it made the most sense. 
> 
> Also writing grief is WEIRD AF; I'm currently dealing with it and the swings between "I'm ok" and "I am SUPER not ok" and "I'm not ok but I'm also not falling apart" are freaking wild. To anyone who's read this far, thank you, and if you're trying to wrestle down your own grief: it's not empty to say 'it does get better', but it'll do it at its own pace, no matter how much you wanna rush through the really shit parts. So take care of yourselves, and stay tuned for way more cheerful prompts because I'm off grief-writing for a while, lol <3


End file.
